


Fox and Hound

by ChibiFrieza



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Animal Transformation, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-09
Updated: 2014-02-09
Packaged: 2018-01-11 18:41:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1176535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChibiFrieza/pseuds/ChibiFrieza
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A wizard did it.  Now they have to find him.</p><p>Loosely set in Season 1.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fox and Hound

The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog.

The lazy dog whines softly and curls away, burying his nose under his front leg. It is morning, but the sky is still grey and misty. He is cold. He is tired. They are far away from what they know.

The fox jumps over the dog again and wiggles his nose under the dog’s leg to chase his head out. The dog retreats, clumsy, pawing at the fox, but the fox is too quick. The fox comes at him from another angle, bullying the dog to his feet. _Can’t stay here._

The dog stretches. It is deliberate, necessary. The fox dances around him impatiently and yips. All around, there are large patches of grass, tall and dead and softly pale, and the ground is uneven. There are low bushes, tangled and almost naked. The dog’s legs are long, but the ground rolls and the grass is almost as tall as he in places. This makes it difficult to see.

The fox is untroubled by the terrain. He scents the air, turning his head this way and that. He stiffens. The dog is beside him instantly.

 _Food_.

The fox slips away alone. He moves silently. His own scent is strong, but the wind carries the scent of his prey to him. It will not carry his and betray him until he lets it. He creeps an arc through the dead grass, smelling the rabbit’s scent, hearing the small noises it makes as it feeds. It will not hear him coming until he chooses.

There is a bare patch in the grass. The rabbit is there. The fox loops around, and the wind is at his back now, and he breaks into the open.

The rabbit stamps and bolts.

The dog is ready. When the rabbit breaks cover, he seizes it by the neck and kills it.

The fox and the dog share the food. It is not quite enough.

They are supposed to be somewhere else. The dog finds high ground and looks at what is around them. There are scrubby trees in the distance. They do not look familiar, but something makes them look like a place he should go. He points his body in that direction and looks at the fox. _That way?_

The fox has smelled something faint and distracting for a long time. It might be stronger in the direction the dog is pointing. There is no recollection of which direction they went yesterday; the fox and the dog do not understand _yesterday_. There is now, and there is them, and there is _wrong_ , and they are going where they will know why.

*

It is grey and dim all day, but it will not rain yet. Both of them know.

When they reach the trees, there is nothing, only more of the distracting scent and less of the tall grass. They go through the trees and come out the other side.

There is a fence here. They check at the sight; it is too straight, unnatural. The fox slinks under first. He emits a low whine, and the dog crawls under.

They go on. The ground is still uneven, and this continues to trouble the dog, but the grass is shorter here. There are cattle in the distance. The fox and the dog stay away; they go wide around them.

It is wearying to travel without knowing where they are going or how far. There are more fences, and they become accustomed to them. They are hungry again before the day is over, but there is no smell or sign of food except for the distant cattle. They are not that stupid.

It begins to grow dark. The dog and the fox have not slowed, but the dog can see that the fox is tense with fatigue, and the fox can see that the dog is tired and wary. The fox, leading, descends into a hollow and turns. _Sleep here._

They sleep curled close to one another. The night is cold.

*

The fox wakes when the dog begins to whimper. His legs begin to scrabble and the whimpers become distressed whines. The fox is smaller than the dog, but he knows what is needed.

The fox uncurls and pushes up against the dog, full body contact so the dog will know he is not alone. He licks the dog’s face, rapidly and gently. The dog wakes. He is trembling. The fox nuzzles closer, small but protective, and throws a foreleg over the dog’s shoulder. Slowly the dog relaxes back into sleep, legs tangled around the fox. He does not stir for the rest of the night.

In the morning, the fox wakes instantly and tugs himself free. The dog moves more slowly, but he is alert sooner than it appears.

They continue their journey. They are very hungry. Partway through the morning, the fox scents food again. Today, it is a pheasant. One pheasant is not enough, but it is food.

The day is more than half over when they meet another dog. The stranger is no bigger, but more thickly built. He growls. _This place is mine._

The dog shrinks and tries to look like a dog that is not a threat. He does not want to fight. He dips his head slightly, but does not back away: _We will leave if you let us pass._

The stranger snarls and braces his forepaws. The dog has no choice. His hackles rise and he bares his teeth. He growls. The stranger tenses; he is about to spring.

Then the fox runs directly between the two and faces off against the stranger. He lets out a harsh, startling cry, a squeal running beneath the rough warning, loud and possessive. _MINE. Stay away._

The stranger moves forward, threatening. This is a mistake. The fox leaps, clawing at the stranger’s face. When the stranger jerks away, the fox drops, then goes for the unprotected throat.

The stranger is not that slow. He bats the fox away with a heavy paw and sends him to the ground with a stunned yelp.

The dog now has clear access to the stranger. Before the stranger can follow up on his advantage over the fox, he moves in with a snarl. _No, you don’t._ He knows to keep low, because his long legs make him easy to take off-balance. He gathers himself compactly and launches himself at the stranger.

They grapple up onto hind legs, shoving and biting and clawing back and forth, and there is blood and pain and fury, and then the dog has got the stranger on his back and snarls long and viciously over him. The stranger moves to try and dislodge the dog, but the dog cuffs him across the head and he yelps and cowers beneath him.

The dog moves off of the stranger. He does not want to kill him; he is already beaten. The stranger rolls up and pelts away cringing.

The fox makes a move to go after him. The dog blocks his way. The fox bristles for a moment. Then he sniffs and reaches up to lick the blood from the dog’s wounded shoulder. The dog folds down to let him reach.

After, the dog makes the fox sit still so that he can clean the side of his head. There is a wound behind his ear where the stranger hit him. The fox flicks his ears, but does not move his head away.

They are not too injured to continue, but they stop before it becomes dark. They clean out one another’s wounds again. Then they curl around each other and go to sleep. Neither wakes in the night.

*

It is going to rain today.

There is urgency now. The strange scent is getting stronger, but if it rains, the fox will lose it. The dog keeps careful watch. He does not know what he wants to see, but if he is not looking, the fox might miss it.

There are trees, now. It is difficult to see far ahead. The fox is still certain of his direction, so they move quickly. They have not eaten today. They cannot stop. The morning passes and the rain smell becomes even stronger.

They come upon a clearing. There is a structure in it; not natural. The dog and the fox look out at it through the scant underbrush. The fox is coiled low with tension. The dog can feel it, pressed against his side, belly to the ground. This is the place. This is the place where they will understand.

A man is walking away from the structure. He carries a bundle with him. He does not notice the dog or the fox. He stops nearer to them than to the structure, crouches, and opens the bundle. There are dead plants inside, some feathers and perhaps small bones, and a chip of rock that glints dully in the dim, clouded light.

The man separates the plants into two heaps, then begins to dig a shallow hole with his hands.

The dog and the fox reach a consensus of breath and tension. They break out of the undergrowth at the same moment.

The man startles badly. He jumps to his feet, scattering one little heap of plants. He stands and stares at them. They stand and stare at him.

“You!” he says. “How did you find me?” _Fear._ His tone and his scent are laden with it. The fox and the dog advance. The man retreats. He trips over the uneven ground, or perhaps over his own feet. Two feet are not enough for good balance. When the dog and the fox continue to move towards him, he clambers backwards along the ground, the scent of his fear spiking. It is like the strange smell, but not identical.

The dog growls very quietly.

“Okay, okay! You want me to change you back? I can change you back! Please don’t kill me!” _Change you back_. The sounds mean nothing, but they echo like remembering. The dog and the fox do not advance further. They wait.

“Okay.” The man takes a shuddering breath. “You gonna let me up?” He moves carefully, tentatively, begins to rise. They allow it. He is afraid of them. He makes noises that almost lead to understanding. He will fix the _wrong_. That is why they have come. That is why they have come here. To him.

He is afraid of them.

He moves slowly because of his fear. He takes some of the dead plants and makes a new pile. He does things they do not understand, and as he does these things, he makes sounds they do not understand.

“Lucky you got here now, it woulda been permanent, it’s three days and I was gonna finish the spell. You’d have probably killed me, though, wouldn’t you? If I couldn’t reverse it. Can you understand me?”

He stops for a moment and looks at them. They look at him.

He resumes his movement. “Guess not. Man, I hope you guys don’t remember hearing that, ‘cause you might actually kill me.” His fear spikes again. He does not stop. He murmurs now, and the shape of the sounds is beneath distinction even for the fox’s ears.

Then there is suddenly flame, and the plants and some other things are burning, and the strange smell is everywhere, all around them and inside them and they are in the wrong skins, they are not in the right bodies, they stretch and snap and the world is pain and wrong, wrong and relentless.

There is white.

*

It’s raining.

“Um. Guys? Are you okay?” The voice is distant, filtered like it doesn’t make sense, and how much sense does that make, because Sam understands every word.

Sam understands every word.

He pulls his eyes open. He aches everywhere and there’s a persistent throbbing in his shoulder. He’s curled on his side in the dirt, and there’s rain falling on him, and he twitches his fingers just to make sure they’re there.

He sits up as quickly as he’s able, and looks around for Dean. His brother is lying near him, face working out furrows of pain and disorientation, and Sam recognises the signs of what he’s just gone through.

After a moment, Dean opens his eyes. The first thing he sees is Sam.

“Sammy?” His voice is wrecked. “Y’okay?” He swallows with visible effort.

“Yeah.” That’s maybe not the exact truth, but “okay” has a broad range, and he figures it can include “well everything hurts and I think I’m bleeding, but at least I’m human.”

“Good.” Dean struggles up. Then Sam notices the man standing between them and the nearby house, with terror and relief mixed in his face and a large wet patch on the front of his pants. Dean turns, following Sam’s gaze.

He curses, percussive, and starts to climb to his feet. “You _yellow_ son of a-”

“Dean. Don’t.” Sam reaches out and catches hold of Dean’s shoulder. Dean twists.

“Why the hell not?” he demands.

“He’s not worth the effort,” says Sam, and Dean snorts. “And I think you might have a concussion from that dog. Show me your eyes.” He takes Dean’s jaw and turns his face so he can see it.

“Dude, get off.” Dean pushes his hands away. “I don’t have a concussion, okay?” He is distracted, then, by the sight of his brother’s blood. “Lemme see that shoulder. You still bleeding?”

Sam shrugs, glances down. “Guess so. Not too bad, though. I think it’s pretty clean, at least.” He grins. Deans scowls a bit. Then he remembers, turns his head.

“Hey. Don’t even think about bailing.”

The man stops, turning hastily back towards them. “N-no, of course not, um.” He looks at the two of them with wide, frightened eyes as they stand up and face him, shoulder to shoulder, Dean’s arms folded across his bare chest, Sam’s hands clenching into fists near his thighs. Transformation-wracked and naked, bleeding in the rain, they surely look as though forbearance is among the commodities they no longer possess.

Sam figures that’s probably a pretty accurate assessment.

The man looks like he might pass out at any time. “What,” he begins, swallows hard, “what can I, please, don’t hurt me, what do you want from me?”

The house looks sound, if somewhat ramshackle. So Sam says, “You’ve got house guests for tonight.” Dean says, “And you freakin’ better have clean clothes in there, you half-baked _hedge witch_.” If it is not Dean’s finest jab ever, he is to be extended lenience on account of the extenuating circumstances of physical trauma, nudity and the greeting kiss of hypothermia. It is not easy to maintain an imposing demeanor while shivering, but judging by the way the witch jerks a nod and hurries toward the house, they seem to be making it work.

They follow him inside.

*

Later, they have taken turns in the shower and dressed their wounds and themselves, Sam in yoga pants that leave several inches of ankle bare, and Dean will not let it go except when the witch is around. The witch is not a tall man - barely a man at all, in fact - and his jeans are short on Dean. It’s this or robes, though, and Dean and Sam are adamant on that point. They will wear the clothes that don’t fit, thanks.

The witch is not a bad cook, and still jumpy enough around them that they figure he wouldn’t risk trying to slip them anything. Besides, Sam was watching. Unless there’s some arcane use for basil that he’s never heard of, they’re fine. The rain is still pouring down, pounding on the roof and running down the windowpanes.

They eat hot soup at the witch’s table. Gradually Sam feels the totality of his humanity returning to him, with first the warmth of the house and the shower, and now the food. The hunger has been a secondary concern, but then, it takes a lot to beat out getting turned into a dog and back.

Dean is laying down the law around mouthfuls of soup and buttered toast. The witch is listening. He still looks like he may never relax again, but he isn’t actively twitchy at this point, which is progress. Dean says, “And look, man, I get the whole I-am-mad-with-power deal, but dude, seriously. Don’t screw around with stuff you don’t understand. Do your homework, you got it? And if I _ever_ catch you messing with anybody ever again...” He pauses, grins wickedly. “Well, let’s just say, what you don’t know would fill a book, and I have that book freakin’ _memorised_. So watch your back, is all I’m sayin’.”

“Dean,” says Sam, because somebody has to steal his thunder before this poor guy starts having nightmares, “do you think you could maybe try swallowing before you talk? I usually find I communicate more clearly that way.”

“’S’cause you suck at multi-tasking, bro,” Dean shoots back, but he shuts up for a bit.

Usually, they’d be righteously pissed off at someone who transformed them into animals just for a ritual that wasn’t even guaranteed to bring him prosperity or hot chicks or limitless pie or whatever the dude was after. But the kid’s terrified, and now that they’ve gotten inside his house, it’s plain that this is his first attempt at any such thing. He has actual power of his own, too, which is a bit of a shocker, but he’s essentially what Dean called him: a hedge-witch, as benign as they come. No harm, no foul. Except for the part where he turned them into animals, but they figure if it had to be anyone, it might as well have been them falling afoul of it. They can handle this kind of thing better than your average bear.

And he’s totally paying for it, anyway. Both with the hospitality and the being terrorised by Dean. So they can kind of let it slide. Dean’s serious about checking back on this guy, though, and Sam agrees. They should come back in a few years, make sure all’s well. Just in case.

The food is gone and Sam is exhausted, and he can see Dean drooping in his periphery even though when he looks straight at him he’s doing the best impression of “fine” he can muster right now.

Sam figures he won’t make Dean ask. “Got any beds for us?” The witch jumps up eagerly.

“I changed the sheets on my bed while you guys were showering. There’s just the one, but it’s pretty huge, so you should both fit. And I’ll drive you wherever you want in the morning, my car’s out back, it’ll just...” He looks back and forth between them. “What?” His voice is small.

“Of course,” says Dean. “Of _course_ you only have one bed.”

“Come on, Dean,” says Sam, “we just spent three nights curled up in a ball, and you have a problem sharing a bed now?”

“That’s different.”

It isn’t all that different. Halfway through the night, Sam wakes from a nightmare with Dean pressed up against his side, still mostly asleep, saying, “Shh, shh, it’s okay, Sammy,” and an arm lying solid across his chest.

When he wakes in the morning, Dean is already out of bed and dressing. The rain hasn’t let up yet. The witch drives them back to the Impala, parked by the side of a back road, and they go back to the hunt they were pulled off of, the hunt that was interrupted and replaced with a different one.

The job doesn’t turn out that hard. It just took them a while to get to it.

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted to [LiveJournal](http://chibifrieza.livejournal.com). Thank you for reading; comments are greatly appreciated!


End file.
